Misunderstood
by Juuichi-San-Loves-Honey
Summary: Piscatella finally got a job he deserves. Being a correction's officer at the Litchfield Men's Correctional Facility is something he felt would be fulfilling. Unfortunately, after a run in with someone that he connects with, he starts to not function as well as he wants to. Is it desperation or something else? (M/M Piscatella backstory)


**/Author Note: I wanted to write a backstory for Piscatella that gives him some kind of reason for being such a hardned person. No spoilers here, and all of these characters besides him and a few others that you might recognize are my own. Oh and there will be some M/M stuff. Enjoy/**

 **(Misunderstood: An OITNB fanfic)**

 **(Chapter 1: The Boy with the Fruit Cup)**

Piscatella took a deep breath. This wasn't exactly where he saw his life heading... but being a welder for six years didn't really give him any sort of satisfaction in his job.

But a correction's officer? He would be helping people who took the wrong path to get back on the right one. He knew a thing or two about being on the wrong path. Plus, he had some connections in the men's facility in Litchfield, so it was easier to get a job.

Stepping into the building, he walked over to the receptionist desk, where a smaller young woman was scribbling away on a piece of paper.

"Hello, I'm the new corrections officer. Name's Desi Piscatella." he said, putting his hand out for the girl to shake. Upon hearing his voice, she looked up, startled, pushed the paper under a file, and smiled at him.

"Good morning! I'm Ginnifer Crowe, I usually work up front, but I occasionally work in the back. Nice to meet you, Piscatella." she said, smiling. This girl worked with the inmates? Impossible.

"I'll have you go back and report to our manager, . If you go down that hallway, his door is the second on the right." Crowe said, pointing past the visitor room to a hallway blocked off by a large barred door. She got up out of her seat and walked out of the office. A moment later, she appeared on the other side of the door, and opened it.

"Thanks, Crowe. I'll see you around." Piscatella said, nodding to her, as he approached Foster's office.

A few inmates walked by, a smaller older man, a tall heavier black man, and a younger guy with dark hair. The younger guy was kind of attractive... wait. Stop. He couldn't be having any thoughts like that here. This was work. It was only because of his connections in the men's facility that he was here. He'd probably be better off in the woman's in terms of forming accidental attraction... but this was where he was hired.

Opening the door, he found himself in a large office with an equally large desk. Trophies of various sports events were scattered on the shelves in the room. Behind the desk was a younger man with long brown hair tied in a ponytail, adjusting his tie.

"Foster? Hi, I'm Piscatella, I start working here today."

"What's up, man? Glad you could make it. Please, sit down." Foster said, leaning back in his chair, motioning to a leather armchair in front of his desk. Piscatella casually walked over and sat down, the leather compressing under his weight. It made the noise leather makes when you sit down on it... reminding him of something.

"Desi, get your 15 year old butt over here and eat your breakfast. You know it's the most important meal of the day." his mother croned at him from the kitchen. He rolled his eyes, and sat up in the big leather chair in their living room, which made a squeaking noise.

He wasn't looking forward to today. This is what he got for being cocky, but he deserved what was coming to him. Coming out to his parents was probably not the best idea... at least not now. But his friends at school all were supportive and he felt it was time...

"If you don't hurry you'll be late for the bus." His father said, walking through the room, reading the paper, not glancing up.

The bus to the conversion camp? It felt more like the boat through the River Styx.

"Hey!" his father shouted at him, and he looked up at the large man. "Listen to your mother, alright? We don't need any of your bullshit." he said, walking into the other room. The boy looked down at his hands... was he really so wrong?

"So... yeah just go into the staff office, change into your uniform, and you can start patrol in the kitchen. Good luck out there, bro." Foster said, interupting Piscatella's thoughts. He held out a hand to fist bump, which Piscatella reluctantly tapped with his fist. Hopefully whatever Foster was saying wasn't important.

"Today's lunch is corned beef, cabbage, fruit and water. Please keep the noise down in the lunch room during mealtimes. Excess noise could result in a shot. Thank you and have a lovely day." The voice on the intercom, presumably Crowe's, drew Piscatella out of a daze. Nothing too exciting was happening in the lunchroom. Male inmates ate at a number of tables around the room.

He noticed they seemed to be divided up by race. Whites, blacks, hispanic, a few asian, and the older men sat off to the side. They probably didn't want any of the drama. He noticed an inmate from the white's table tucking away a fruit cup into his pocket, standing up and starting to walk out of the room.

"Hey, inmate." he said to the guy, appearing to be in his early 20s, with messy blond hair and an ear piercing.

"What's up new guy, how you doing?" the inmate said smiling, surprisingly unscathed by Piscatella's remark to him.

"You can't bring food out of the cafeteria. If you keep going, I'll have to give you a shot." he said, holding his hand out to the guy. The guy smiled and withdrew a hand from his pocket. However, his hand was empty, and the guy only put his hand into Piscatella's giving him a warm feeling in his chest.

"Sure you will. Catch you around." the guy said, taking his hand away and walking out of the room. Piscatella couldn't even make a sound to yell back at him. He stood there, red faced, but not with anger.

The worst part was? The guy was cute. Really fucking goddamned cute. This job might not work out as well as he wanted it to.


End file.
